Forward Motion
by kasugai gummie
Summary: [AkihaUmeda] 'And Akiha remembered... what an unappreciative ass Kijima Ryouichi was.' In Progress
1. Stand Still

**Disclaimer**: Nakajo owns. She owns bishounen, a cool plotline, your wallet, your savings account, your life, your soul...

**Warnings**: Shonen-ai (Akiha/Umeda, Umeda+Ryouichi, Ebi+Akiha), most probably some OOC-ness since my grasp of the characters is questionable at best, and pathetic attempts at trying to avoid the angst. First chapter in a three-part story? Debatable.

**Author's Note**: I think I now know why there isn't any prominent fandom base for Hanakimi. The characters are all so detailed and specific in their designs that any deviation from those set blueprints is suicide. :crawls into her own grave: Akiha is especially hard for me because I didn't want to push him across as too hyper and lose his professional suave; nor did I want to tone down his enthusiasm and make him... weird. Think I failed on both accounts. And this is only the first chapter... so that means, yay! At least two more chapters of linguistic crap after this installment!

**Dedication**: To the second dango in our dango triad—who promised me a FujiRyo fanart in exchange for a multi-parted Akiha/Umeda fic. Hope this works as a kick off, imoutochan...

* * *

**Forward Motion Act 1 – Stand Still**  
by kasugai gummie

* * *

Normal people liked to keep regular hours, live stable lives, and have healthy relationships.

Day in, day out, the schedules remain unchanged, predictable and ridiculously close to being canonized. A perfect agenda would regulate for twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, fifty-two weeks a year... a grand total of three hundred and sixty-five days when ignoring the birthdays of those poor bastards born on the twenty-ninth of February.

Normal people were boring.

Hazel eyes refocused lazily and lifted from the tattered pages of an old scrapbook to the exasperate face of one very irate Ebi Kotobuki.

"How is it that you haven't dropped dead yet?"

They stared at each other as one waited for an answer and the other took the time to... stare.

"Huh?"

Ebi rolled her eyes at the unintelligent response and leaned over the cluttered table so that she was eye-to-eye with her ex-husband turned employer. "How. Is. It. That. You. Haven't. Dropped. Dead. Yet?" She annunciated carefully, raising a slender eyebrow when all she received was a sheepish grin and a nonchalant shrug.

"'Cause I'm not boring?"

The staring match resumed.

Then, "I fail to see how compromising your health has anything to do with how boring you are." Ebi pointed an accusatory finger at the digital figures on the wall's clock. "You've barely slept for more than four hours after the latest contract's deadline was met, and instead of resting like us normal people, you're spending all your free time looking at high school yearbooks!"

The longhaired man watched her gestures thoughtfully before smiling and stretching sinuously as he got up out of his chair.

"But I'm not normal, Ebi. I thought you knew me better than that," Akiha admonished in a teasing tone before strutting jauntily out the door. "I'll be at the local café if you need me! Food calls, and I think want a change today... maybe a nice Western styled breakfast?" His mellow chuckle trailed after him as his chipper footsteps slowly faded away.

The door clicked shut almost apologetically.

"A nice Western style breakfast?" Ebi echoed to the empty room. Left alone in Akiha's office, with only the cluttered spread of photos as company, a tired sigh circulated through the half-lit room. She glanced down at the abandoned pages of old snapshots and traced a manicured nail over the elegant lines of one particular face.

"Normal, I guess not." Her finger stopped to gently rest upon the glossy print. "Dumb ass, most definitely yes."

* * *

Akiha brightened as the clinking of commercial dishware, accompanied by the hush of morning conversations, wafted to his ears. The familiar buzz of activity at its minimum that all regular patrons associated the early hour with washed over the tall blond as he stepped through the café's threshold.

Glancing over to his regular booth, he blinked in mild surprise as if the normally empty table had suddenly sprouted a foreign head and body.

Which it apparently did, if the unknown dark haired figure was of any indication...

Akiha pouted. This wasn't fair. Who in their right minds would get up this early to steal other people's tables? Never mind that his name was to be found nowhere near that area, but he figured that other frequenters to the café this early in the morning would have already known of his seating preference.

He turned resolutely to the counter before his irrational urge to go demand his seat back overrode common sense.

"Good morning! How may I help you?"

The normally energetic photographer's mood, which had only seconds before climbed up from its momentary dip, plummeted again.

If he didn't know better, he'd say that there was a huge conspiracy against him. Even the waitress who normally took his order had been replaced!

Forcing a grin that felt weak to even himself, Akiha attempted to address the waiting girl. "Aa—is Sada-san out today?"

Guileless green eyes, no doubt colored through the aid of contacts, flickered before giving him a sympathetic glance.

"Oh! You must be Akiha-san?"

Dumbly, he nodded, smile still somehow plastered to his face.

The girl giggled. "Sada said you'd probably show up around seven in the morning."

Akiha looked perplexed. "Then why isn't she here today?"

"She's sick."

"Oh... um..." the taller man shifted his weight. "... can you still take my order?"

Mildly affronted, but equally amused, the waitress smiled. "Of course! What would you like for breakfast? The usu—"

"Not my usual," Akiha cut in. "I've been indulging a little too much in French and Japanese breakfasts lately. My ex-wife gave me some cooking lessons so I can make sweet grass bean paste on my own now anyway," he explained apologetically before suddenly focusing on the menu board behind the cashier that seemed to draw his attention towards one particular item. "Actually, I think I'll have an extra large Rocky Road and mocha blend sundae, in one of those cute tall glasses please. Also, can you add caramel and cookie bits with the whipped cream topping?"

The girl behind the counter was barely aware of her mouth hanging agape. Her co-worker had warned her to expect strange orders from this man. But this... She decided not to retch at the thought of all that sugar through sheer will power alone. "Uh... will that be all?"

"Oh, right! And don't forget a maraschino cherry on top." Akiha smiled brightly as he finished his convoluted order. "I'd also like to have an extra pitcher of hot fudge to go with." He blasted the poor girl with a ridiculously cheery grin as he chirped his last request. "Just in case."

Bedazzled and a little sick from the prospect of all that unhealthy concentration of sugar, the waitress nodded and mechanically rang up the order. "O-of course." She sincerely hoped that her sallow complexion would go unnoticed.

Gliding to the table nearest his preferred spot, Akiha flashed one last smile to the girl before he sat down to wait for his breakfast. Not quite staring at the back of the anonymous spiky haired male's head, he let himself to drift bemusedly, losing himself to his thoughts.

The morning wasn't going as well as he hoped, but he believed that a trip to his beloved's school would turn around his luck. It'd already been three days since he'd last gotten to spend any quality time with his senpai after all; a week since he was able to sneak in a surprise kiss on the older man (something which had been a stroke of poor dumb luck anyway).

Dimly, he heard the high-pitched ring of a cell phone from his table's intruder's back pocket. Skillfully ignoring the annoyance, he plunged himself into the memories of his senpai's smoldering gaze that spoke to his soul and those thin, softly honeyed lips that put the devil to shame in the game of temptation...

Looking at those old photos had taken him to the past where a freshman Akiha was still in the first stages of awe for one Umeda Hokuto. He remembered when his interest in his senpai climbed from mere older-male-figure worship to something more intimate. He remembered his senpai's graduation ceremony, and how the aristocratic look of disdain had flickered momentarily when he managed to lock eyes with the aspiring doctor. He remembered how his senpai was only interested in one person, out of the whole school, no matter how hurtful the other was. He remembered...

"—f course you can make it. Don't be difficult, Hokuto."

Akiha snapped out of his reverie when his selective hearing kicked in.

"—and I want you to actually wear the gift I got you—"

Brown eyes steadily widened at the obscurely angled profile.

"No, dabbing it on your wrists doesn't count as wearing."

Completely ignoring the heady clink of his sundae glass hitting the table, Akiha stared while the black cropped head turned, as if in slow motion, to reveal equally dark eyes. Even the rich scent of melted chocolate couldn't pull him away from the blasé arrogance found in those depths.

"I'll see you tonight then."

And Akiha remembered...

"Later."

... what an unappreciative ass Kijima Ryouichi was.

* * *

**End Act 1**  
Completed: 08/11/04  
Revised: 04/02/05


	2. Counterclockwise Turn

**Disclaimer**: See Act 1.

**Warnings**: See Act 1.

**Author's Note**: Foregoing my studying for finals in favor of writing this. Reread approximately 9 volumes to get back in the "mood." Didn't expect myself find myself to suddenly be in a Nakatsu/Taiki mood though. :buries head in hands: So now I have random plotbunnies gnawing on my ankles and other vulnerable body parts. I'm so pathetic...

Wrote the majority of this in one sitting and came to the conclusion that, since this is really light in EVERYTHING, that the serious fangirling material will be a later on. Right now I just fear that this thing will be worse than **Intrigue** and will span for god-knows how many parts. Not to mention I'm suffering from serious characterization uncertainties. I don't like writing Ryouichi. Serious!Akiha scares me. And Umeda-muse refuses to work with me period.

**Dedication**: To **Kanae** since she's already finished the line-art to my FujiRyo gift. And since she set the deadline for her Stanford acceptance/rejection letter date, I could only stand and deliver. Hope you got in imouto!

* * *

**Forward Motion Act 2 – Counterclockwise Turn**  
by kasugai gummie

* * *

There's just something about having a prestigious career of catering to other people's problems and then having to find out that nobody was there for when _you_ wanted to bitch. That's right; nothing like having a _riveting_ conversation with someone going through their mid-life crisis to rub away at one's patience. Needless to say, most physicians have what is often referred to as a short temper.

Umeda Hokuto was not an exception to this rule. In fact, he was the very definition.

Barely constraining the wild, impractical urge to simply hurl his cell phone out the window and towards the picturesque sky, the light-haired doctor sank down into his chair instead. His fingers clenched into a choke hold around the handset as he glared unseeing at the few scattered documents on his desk.

_Breathe. Just breathe. It's not his fault he's the biggest bastard this side of Japan._

Pressing slender fingers to his temples in a series of controlled, circular motions, he attempted to relieve the pressure that always seemed to accumulate whenever he had to talk with Ryouichi over an electronic appliance. Almost as an afterthought, he set the sleek hand held device down on his desk, just in case his judgment decided to act up like his older sister on PMS and made him do something he'd most definitely regret. Like throwing the cursed thing out the window and missing the bastard's next phone call.

Damn, he needed a cigarette.

Once he had the little cancerous stick lit and somehow managed to soothe his grated nerves, he leaned back into the plush chair. Smoke trailed up coyly from where the smoldering cigarette dangled limply from between his fingers. He stared outside, brooding for all he was worth, and brought his stress relief to his lips again.

When had he become such a masochist?

* * *

They stared; one with curiosity, the other in disbelief.

Cocking his head to the side, Kijima quirked a questioning look at the person who was shameless ogling him. Or so he would like to think.

Calmly tucking away his handset without breaking eye contact, he assessed the other man. Artificial blond hair (he could see the darker roots) framed a slim aristocratic face (quite like Hokuto's but less sultry, less exotic), and brown eyes (an interesting blend of hazel nut and Belgium chocolate) stared at him almost accusingly.

His parents were psychotherapists. So was he, to an extent. And if the tumultuous darkening, dark, darker shades that colored those eyes were of any indication, he could diagnose himself as "very much disliked" with his current company.

"Is there a problem?" Kijima inquired politely. Ever closed. Ever polite. Ever courteous...

Akiha on the other hand was anything _but_ calm; his mind had been plunged into a maelstrom of unpleasant thoughts, memories, et cetera. He was shocked that Kijima Ryouichi was one to visit cafés. He was disturbed with the other's appearance. He was Very Displeased that the asshole had taken his table. And he could smell the overpowering scent of expensive cologne on the black-dressed physician—the scent that he presumed his Umeda-senpai was just told, in no smiling terms, to "actually wear."

Not to mention the fact that his beloved breakfast had to wait because of the asshole's untimely appearance annoyed him greatly.

Akiha was never athletic in the sense that he'd willingly jump after some inanimate object like a drugged dog to begin with. But that didn't cancel out the irresistible urge to simply hook his leg under the other's chair and _pull_.

And point.

And laugh.

And take a picture while he was at it.

And then finally enjoy his melting breakf—

Eyes widening, the acclaimed photographer broke eye contact and turned in his seat to watch his ice cream dissolve into a gruesome mess. He frowned. Drinking cold milk had never been one of his favorite pastimes.

Sighing in resignation, he grabbed the hot fudge pitcher in one hand and the glass dish in his other. Turning back, he glared frostily at his slightly amused, but still puzzled, headache incarnate.

"You're in my seat."

Ryouichi raised an eyebrow, skillfully ignoring the shiver of disgust that came with the sight of a grown man chugging some hundred twenty grams of sugar so early in the morning. "I see. Then I'm sorry to have—" he smirked, with the slightest hint of condescension, "—taken your seat. I was just leaving anyway." So saying, he got up, paid his tip, offered an impersonal little half smile at Akiha who merely intensified his unwelcoming stare from above the rim of his breakfast cup, and strode out the door without another backward glance.

Licking away the remnants of the sugary confection, Akiha slammed down the thick glass, a few bills, and followed the older man out the door. Only to start swearing in both Japanese and English (and even a few other languages he wasn't as fluent in) when he realized he had no idea which way Kijima had gone.

* * *

He was in the process of giving another student, who decided to intrude on his privacy with the trumped up excuse of an illness, some fast-acting laxatives (he'll _give_ them illness) when his mobile rang. A quick glance at the caller ID confirmed that he should, in fact, take this call.

Ignoring the scurrying sounds of desperate, self-preserving feet, he flipped open the small device and drawled an irate "what do you want?" into the unoffending mouthpiece.

—That's not very nice Hokuto—

Amber eyes flashed. "I wasn't put on this earth to be _nice_, Ryouichi," he snapped. "All that fake nicety is a part of _your_ job, not mine."

—Testy aren't we?—

Umeda contemplated to just hang up on the insufferable bastard... but rather predictably, didn't. Instead, he continued to cling to the decibels of sound that traveled god-knows how many kilometers.

_Masochiiiiiiist. Masochiiiiiiist._

He could see Io and Minami laughing their asses off right this moment.

"It's still school hours Ryouichi. I'm busy."

—Busy torturing your students?—

"..."

—You're so easy to read sometimes Hokuto. You never were a morning person...—

"Ryouichi..."

—Anyway, just called to tell you something—

Umeda sat down again, propping his feet up on his desk. "What? Are you canceling tonight again? Or is Masato sick? Or did he impregnate his wife again and needs immediate medical assistance despite having fathered two others?"

An unconcerned chuckle slithered across unseen radio waves. —Jealous, Hokuto?—

Umeda fell silent.

—Tonight is still on. I was just calling to inform you that I'll be over in about an hour—

"You'll be over in _what_?"

—I'm visiting Osaka Gakuen this afternoon. As a graduate, I do believe that I'm allowed the right. See you soon Hokuto—

The dial tone was abnormally loud in the neat, little office space.

* * *

Where was her burgundy lip-liner? Ah, under the beige foundation. But that meant she was still missing the wine-rouge...

Just as she clicked her case shut, Ebi jumped when her cell phone's whimsical "It's a Small World After All" ring tone was suddenly belted into the otherwise empty room. She fumbled as she tried to pull the annoyance out of her purse.

"Yes? Ebi Kotobuki speaking."

Her eyes widened as she inadvertently glanced out the door of the powder room towards the general direction of Akiha's own office where an Osaka Gakuen yearbook still lay opened.

"I understand. Right. I'll call you if there are any emergencies."

Her voice softened imperceptibly.

"Take care, Akiha."

* * *

**End Act 2  
**Completed: 12/11/04  
Revised: 04/13/05


	3. Step Back

**Disclaimer**: See Act 1.

**Warnings**: See Act 1.

**Author's Note**: This was ridiculously hard to write. A literal, honest-to-god, "I want to bludgeon myself to death with a keyboard" pain in the ass. I have sections of the last chapter already written, and the rest of the story already planned out, but as for this part... well, this is what's otherwise called a filler. Basically you have here, a chapter where I thought that some Umeda sibling-ness might be a good additive to the plot, thus the appearance of Io out of nowhere. And it was only 500 words into the chapter when I realize that, woah, their relationship is hard to write, and that certain things simply don't work well outside of the land of graphics. Like Io's scary feministic powers against sullen siblings for example. I'm not satisfied at all with how this chapter turned out, but I'll probably revise it a great deal on a later date. Regardless, I have to apologize for any OOC-ness that jump up and attack you all anyway. Sorry.

As for any other issues with my characterization, let me explain (my view on) a few things: Ryouichi is not a nice person. He wasn't a nice person in the last three chapters of volume 14, nor is he any visibly any better some odd years later. He's selfish, demanding, and very self-centered. I don't know if it's just me, but I also find it highly disturbing that he still places Masato on a pedestal even after the whole junior high spiel. The kid is married, has two kids, and it's obvious that Kijima is still obsessing, whether consciously or unconsciously, over him. And Hokuto has to deal with the inconsiderateness. Yes, they've kept in touch for so many years, but the feeling I get is that Ryouichi enjoys being wanted (by an Umeda no less) and Umeda is reluctant/unable to give up the chase into which he's invested so much time (years) into.

**Dedication**: Happy Belated Birthday imoutochan! You're legal now! XD

* * *

**Forward Motion Act 3 – Step Back  
**by kasugai gummie

* * *

Umeda Io was a very unique woman considering traditional Japanese standards. She was confident, self-assured, proud, leaned a far left on the social spectrum, and frightfully domineering.

For Umeda Hokuto, it could be said that those last two traits were what ruined his attraction towards women forever.

Pale eyes that betrayed the foreign influence in his heritage flickered towards the abrupt scattering of wildlife coming from the school's entrance. His ear twitched as it caught the telltale sound of rubber tires brutalizing asphalt and cement. He technically still had time to flee when he heard the decisive slamming of a car door. Everything was sharp, snappy, somewhat loud, and screamed, "Io."

Whether intentional or not, Io managed to announce her presence by merely existing. It was all in the little things: how she would command rather than ask; how she would dismiss rather than apologize; how she would recklessly abuse her car when coming to a sudden, organ-tearing stop rather than following the conventional method of gradual braking.

The resulting commotions did make for a very effective early-warning system though.

This time, however, due to unforeseen circumstances, there was no way for him to exploit the chance to avoid being conned into providing free labor. It'd been exactly twenty-two years, not counting the months and days, since a prepubescent Hokuto first came to the conclusion that Io's attention (and what she would assert to being "love") was just something he did not need in any measurable amounts.

He suppressed a wince when the door slammed open and the most influential woman in his life (second only to his mother) stepped through with a flourish. "Hokuto! Where do you think you're goi—?" The pre-prepared threat spluttered and died an unexpected death when Io caught sight of him still seated at his desk, poised (though resigned) and not in the middle of another ridiculous attempt to escape out the window. "You're still here?" She even managed to look impressed.

He arched a slender eyebrow at the teasing angle on her full lips, all the while entertaining a series of mental cringes as the developing glint of curiosity he'd learned to fear (at an impressionable young age) flickered to life in those darker eyes.

Io looked around the neat office as if to pinpoint what stayed her otherwise self-preserving sibling despite apparent knowledge of her arrival. There were no students seeking attention, no stacks of paperwork in progress. All that was really out of place was the diminutive cell phone set precariously close to the edge of the desk. Besides that there wasn't anything else noteworthy, except for maybe the faint but heady fragrance that wafted by her face... it was an rich smell, artificial and thick.

It most definitely caught her attention. Io sniffed experimentally before pursing her lips into what could've passed as a minor grimace. "Have you been dabbling with cologne Hokuto?" she finally asked, picking up a random sheaf of paper from atop the filing cabinet (she didn't even bother checking if it was important) to fan herself with.

"Obviously," was all he offered as a way of explanation (and in a flat, unwelcoming manner no less). But apparently that wasn't good enough to satisfy Io's prying need for information.

Even after those twenty-two years, he was still amazed (and no little disturbed) at how fast and how easy it was for Io to switch emotional gears (another one of those unwanted mysteries he attributed to the opposing sex). Only thirty seconds was necessary for teasing and faux harmless to make a complete U-turn into a Nazi-like control mania.

"Is that how you address your _elder sister_, Hokuto? No? Then I'd _appreciate_ it if you would _elaborate_ and with a little more _respect._" The voice was deceptively level, calm even. The killing aura on the other hand wasn't as pleasant. Umeda didn't need Kayashima Taiki's abilities to read the oppressive pressure rolling off of the one woman that wasn't his mother that he regarded with a respectable amount of fear.

"A friend gave me a bottle of it as a birthday gift," Umeda explained while leaning as far away from his sister as was unobtrusively possible. He fished the delicate metal and glass container from where he now habitually carried it in his left coat pocket. Almost reluctantly he gave the small decanter of fragrance to Io for inspection against the office's artificial lighting.

"Platinum Egoist. Ghanel Paris," she read, expression thoughtful. "How... expensive."

Umeda cast a dark look at his sister though the disaster had been averted for the time being. The tension along his shoulders relaxed as long, lacquered nails traced over the silver leaf printing.

Io crossed the distance between them (much to the distress of Umeda's inner Darwin alarms) and sniffed the air around his head again. "The name suits the scent at least. Not that I approve of the smell though—it has too much of a snob appeal. And you're not _that_ much of an egotist yet." The ominous tone crept back. "Or at least, you'd better not be. Otherwise something must've gone wrong when I babysat for you all those years and that would mean I'd have to _fix_you. Again."

Umeda half-turned away from the retribution-promising glare. "That won't be necessary!" he snapped.

Io pulled back with a patronizing smile. "Good. But, ah, before you make me play twenty questions to drag out the name of this admirer, I suppose I should tell you why I'm here."

Umeda crossed his arms across his chest. "You suppose?" he muttered.

Io, feeling ever so benevolent, chose to ignore the sarcasm dripping from her younger brother's corner. "Mom and dad sent me to inform you of another family dinner tomorrow night. And any answer that is not a synonym for 'yes' will not be tolerated."

Umeda ran a hand through a messy path in his hair. "Fine, fine."

Io favored him with a knowledgeable look. "Also, even though she didn't quite put it into words, I think mom wants a credible update on your social life. So bring your boyfriend with you." She paused. "That is, if you have one. And if you don't, bring a friend along anyway. Like that what's-his-face fellow graduate of yours? Kimaji? Kamiji? Kajima?"

Tawny eyes narrowed. "It's Kijima."

"Of course it is." Io waved a fine-manicured hand dismissively, body language not at all reflecting the shrewd look in her eyes. "Well? I know for a fact that you still keep in touch with him."

Umeda exhaled slowly, pulled his eyes away from his sister's teasing smile, past the clock, and glanced out the window. "I don't know."

* * *

"We'll be expecting to see you tomorrow night at six o'clock sharp then," Io reminded Umeda a little while later.

After twenty minutes of hardcore interrogation, Io-style, she'd finally given up her attempts to intimidate the younger man into revealing his "cologne-friend." Invading his personal space with an unspoken promise of bodily harm didn't work this time, although she did notice him pale quite a bit when her hand was less than two inches away from his throat.

Apparently the memories of what happened at the disaster that was his high school graduation party were still fresh in his mind.

Pity that the idea of her throttling him wasn't enough to shake his resolve though. Io knew her brother well—better than he did himself sometimes. She knew his fears, his peeves, and his stubborn attitude when it came to keeping his own secrets in tandem to discovering those of others'. She knew that he was no pushover when it came to matters of tact, regardless of whom he was dealing with—herself included.

Some could call the stubbornness a flaw. She, however and oddly enough, was proud of the glaring streak of obstinacy in her little brother. It wasn't often for Umeda Hokuto to defy his _neesan_ and Io supposed that the transgression was excusable once in a while.

Besides, she had _connections_ to fall back on should curiosity really get the better of her. Tucking a wayward strand of glossy black behind her ear, Io "hmm-ed" in amusement.

When she crossed the floor to the door, she stopped to look slyly back her lab coat clad sibling. "Oh, and don't wear that stuff to dinner if you don't want mom to drag the information out of you."

Umeda twitched.

Just as she was placing her hand on the polished doorknob however, a polite rap sounded from the other side. Umeda's sudden jerk that made him rise halfway out of his chair caught her eye before the metal sliding beneath her hand as it turned re-commanded her attention. She looked up just as the slab of wood smoothed away from her in a soundless arc, revealing a tall person in black on black and impersonal eyes beneath a mess of spiky hair. She didn't even have to lean forward to notice a just recently made familiar scent clinging to the lean figure.

Somewhere at the back she could see her brother stiffen even more as he straightened completely out of his chair and reached into his inner pocket for another cigarette.

Interesting.

Turning back, she favored the newcomer with a calculating look. "You seem familiar," she announced after another moment of character analysis.

A single nod. "Aa. We've met—once. You must be Umeda Io-san."

"And you're the reason why Hokuto smells like... how he smells right now," Io snorted, blithely ignoring the strangled sounds that seemed to be coming from the direction of the cot a few feet away. "Who are you?"

* * *

**End Act 3  
**Completed: 04/23/05


End file.
